


Circle the Drain

by rogersmorse



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4038136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogersmorse/pseuds/rogersmorse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobbi hates coming to his apartment; it smells of whiskey and regret.</p>
<p>tw for suicide attempt</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circle the Drain

**Author's Note:**

> s/o to daisy (@MELINDAMAY on twitter) for the idea. i was listening to "circle the drain" by katy perry when i read it and well. this kinda just happened. 
> 
> the ending is a lot different than what i was thinking of? idk i still kinda like it. then again, i am an immature lil shit.
> 
> also, this is partly caitlin's (@mockingjaylance on twitter) fault bc she was being rude for filling up my indirects.

Bobbi hates coming to his apartment; it smells of whiskey and regret. She knocks on the door and, when there’s no response after a minute, knocks again. Rolling her eyes, she tries the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked. 

The living room is bathed in the orange glow of the sunset, glinting off the beer bottle caps and the empty glass bottles that litter every available surface. She toes the nearest bottle with a sigh and puts her hands on her hips. 

“Hunter?” she calls out, peeking her head around the wall to the kitchen, only to find more empty bottles. “I tried calling, but you didn’t answer. I think my backup tac-suit got shoved in one of your boxes.” She walks around the back of the couch, peering down the hallway. The door to his bedroom is cracked open, light pouring out, and she hesitates. 

She sees his leather jacket thrown over the back of the couch, just like it was in their home ( _house_ , she chides herself. She has to stop thinking of it as her home; it hadn’t been home for the last three months of their marriage). He usually didn’t go anywhere without it, which hopefully meant he was here.

Squaring her shoulders, she walks down the hallway and gingerly pushes the door open. “Hunter?” she asks quietly, just in case he was sleeping. She frowns at the empty bed and mussed sheets, wondering where he could be. Bringing her hand up to her mouth, she chews on her thumbnail as she debates checking the bathroom.

Last time she found him in the bathroom, he was throwing up what looked to be the blackest substance she’d ever seen; she doesn’t want a repeat of that.

Bobbi knows him better than anyone else. He’d never leave his apartment unlocked if he wasn’t in it, which probably meant he was in here somewhere. “Get it together, Bobbi,” she mutters to herself as she walks toward the bathroom door. She turns the knob and pushes lightly, confused when the door protests.

Light leaks out, illuminating her boot, and her face twists up. “Hunter?” she asks, pressing her shoulder to the door and shoving. It gives slightly, and she catches a glimpse of bathroom through the mirror. She pushes one last time, putting everything she has into it, and it opens just enough for her to squeeze inside.

Right away, she finds Lance slumped against the bathtub, head resting on the ledge. She starts to sigh when she notices an empty bottle of vodka next to his hip, and she bends to pick it up. 

And that’s when she sees what’s clasped loosely in his other hand.

She bites down on the panic rising in her throat and kneels on the tile, searching for a pulse with shaking hands. “Lance?” she chokes out, voice cracking, and she nearly sobs in relief when she feels his pulse weakly beat against her fingers.

“Lance, c’mon,” she says again, shaking his shoulders. A broken moan escapes his lips and she pulls him toward her. The orange bottle rolls across the floor as he’s jostled and she reads enough of the label that she can feel the panic start to crawl up her spine.

Wrapping an arm around him, she uses her free hand to open his eye, finding his pupil to be the size of a needle. Her heart tries to beat out of her chest and she shakes her head. “No,” she says, and continues to repeat it over and over like a prayer as she scoots closer to the toilet, tugging him with her.

He groans as she moves him and she feels a few tears slide down her cheeks, thankful that he’s still alive. She leans him against the bowl before standing up, rifling through the cabinet above the toilet. 

After finding nothing that can help, she slams her hand on the counter and gets back on the floor, searching once again for his pulse. It flutters against her fingers, weaker than before, and she racks her brain for ideas.

Bobbi doesn’t even think twice as she opens his mouth and shoves her fingers down his throat. He jolts forward and her sob bounces off the tile as he retches into the toilet. She rests her head against the wooden drawers, wiping at her wet cheeks, as he feebly grasps the porcelain. Lance pants into the bowl and she lets her eyes slide shut, swallowing around the lump in her throat.

“Why?” he croaks after a long moment, and she takes a deep breath, ignoring the way it shakes and rattles in her chest. She opens her eyes, meeting his hollow, empty gaze and shrugs her shoulders as she tries to get her thoughts straight.

“I still love you,” she says, looking at the beige wall to the side of his head, tracing a long-since dried drip in the paint. “I’m never gonna stop, you know how that is better than anyone else.” She shakes her head and looks down as she wraps her arms around her legs, pulling them into her chest. 

“I can’t live without you, Bob,” he mutters, his words muffled by the arm covering his mouth. The corners of her lips curl up in a weak attempt at a smile.

“And I can’t live without you,” she says, her voice giving out halfway through, and she wipes at a stray tear.

“Then why the hell did we get divorced?” he responds quickly and Bobbi shakes her head again.

“Because we fall back into old patterns. Because we thought it’d be a way to break out of those patterns.” She presses her lips into a thin line as she picks at the red polish on her thumb. “That was a load of bullshit.” He makes a weak noise of agreement and she turns her head to look at him once more. His eyes still look hollow, but at least some color is returning to his cheeks. Heaving a sigh, she uncurls herself and stands, offering him her hand.

“C’mon. Gotta get you to the hospital.” He groans, resting his head on the seat, and she stifles a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asks and Bobbi grins.

“Asses have been where your forehead is.” He nearly slams his head into the wall as he sits up and pushes off the toilet.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi/yell at me!
> 
> TWITTER: @bobbiimorses
> 
> TUMBLR: teacupandhellbeast.tumblr.com


End file.
